


For Me, For You

by Chiauve



Category: Thor (2011)
Genre: AU, Angst, Gen, rampant italics, tense switch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-09
Updated: 2012-04-09
Packaged: 2017-11-03 08:48:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/379512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiauve/pseuds/Chiauve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What am I?”</p><p>“You are my son.”</p><p>Loki turns slowly, afraid to look down at his Jotun hands and instead turning his beseeching eyes to his father. He sees himself. The man he was meant to be. What he’d left behind all those ages ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Me, For You

**Author's Note:**

> From this prompt on the Thor Kinkmeme:  
>  _According to a book on myths Loki and Odin were once the same deity.  
>  Write me anything using this idea._

Lodur took after his mother.

The marriage between Bor of Asgard and Bestla of Jotunheim had been an attempt to bring peace between the ever-warring realms. It worked insomuch that while the marriage lasted, neither side made an attack on the other, though both wanted nothing more than to do so. It was not a true peace, but merely a bated breath in the eternity.

There was no love between Bor and Bestla, but they respected each other and hand in hand made the realm more powerful. They tried, but neither could overcome their base dislike of their racial enemy. But husband and wife they were, and King and Queen of the Nine Realms, and neither suffered for this partnership.

That was reserved for their son.

Lodur Borson was the son of Aesir and Jotnar, and the heir to the throne of both, but none would know this by the look of him. His skin was a rich cerulean blue, marked by raised strokes and runes, his eyes like garnets and hair as dark as the aether between stars. Only a boy, he still stood nearly as tall as his father but had none of his bulk and strength. The only apparent thing about Lodur that was Aesir was his skill in wizardry, and that hardly gave him approval in his father’s war-born eyes.

Bor rarely looked at his Jotun son, save when he had to. Lodur could see the anguish in his father’s face when he did so, that he would have to place a Frost Giant on Asgard’s throne, and there was no worse fate for the Realm Eternal than that.

How Lodur had tried to prove to all that he too was Aesir as much as Jotun, and failed at each attempt. When he was young, he would cry himself to sleep, curled in sheets that would be soaked by morning. In his slumber, he would call the ice to himself, but it would melt away from the heat of his Aesir blood. When he was older, tired and jaded from useless attempts to please a man that would not accept him, he faced Bor in the throne room, towering over his father.

“Am I so disgusting, Father, so shameful to thee, that thou cannot bear to look upon me and see me as thine own?”

Bor’s eyes widened, as though he thought his son had not _noticed_ , and sighed heavily with regret. He beckoned Lodur closer, who came and knelt before his father that they might be eye-to-eye. There was the barest of hesitation as he traced his son’s face with his thumb before resting his hand upon Lodur’s shoulder.

“Never doubt that thou art my son, and my love for thee anything but true.”

_But I will not have a Frost Giant sit upon the throne of Asgard._

Bor did not say it, but Lodur heard it all the same. Heard it and understood.

Through the reaches of space, Lodur could almost hear the laughter of the Jotnar when they spoke of Lodur Borson. _Even in the womb our kinds do battle, and even there the Jotnar are victorious!_ They called him the Jotun-King of Asgard, and the Aesir shuddered in kind at the thought.

Regardless his heritage, Lodur was born of Asgard and thought of it before any other realm. As Bor’s heir, his duty was to Asgard, but to fulfill that duty would only damage and taint the Realm Eternal.

Lodur, Son of Asgard, would die before he allowed that to happen, but that would not solve the problem. Even were he to die, and his parents to conceive another son, what were the chances that another like himself would be born? No, only an Aesir true could ascend to the throne of Asgard, and only one of Bor’s line would be acceptable. As long as Bestla remained his wife, this could never come to be.

But Lodur was clever and skilled in magic; he would _make_ himself a son worthy of the throne of Asgard.

Many days he spent locked away in his chambers. The magic of the ritual was the most complex he had ever performed, and, on the last day, as he felt himself being torn apart and reassembled by fire and ice and blackness, he wondered if he had erred. Could he survive? If he did not, to which afterlife would he go? He remembered nothing after that.

 

Lodur woke in the darkness of his room, the candles burned out long ago. He was overwarm. The ice came to him willingly, and there it stayed. He sat up slowly, his body aching in every possible place, and even impossible ones, and looked at his hands. They were as blue as ever, the runes in their place, but something was different. Ice flowed through his veins, the fiery Aesir blood expelled from him.

He heard movement behind him and spun into a crouch, coming face to face with himself, a self as perfectly Aesir as he could have dreamed. His Asa-self’s eyes were pale blue, with hair that would have been fair in childhood but was darkening with age. Already he had the promising build of a warrior, like his father, but to this self too did he share his cleverness; neither would suffer a lack of mind.

Lodur, who had been one, was now two, and he placed his hands under the arms of his Asa-self and helped him stand, for the magic still left him confused. No matter, he would regain himself soon enough. When they stood, arm in arm, Lodur gasped and stepped away.

They were the same height. Had more of him been Aesir than he thought that, even as a true Jotun, he was so depleted? Had he indeed given all he had to his Asa-self that he may be perfect, and left his Jotun-self wanting? What a cruel joke.

He sat his still-muddled Asa-self upon the bed and looked him over. Already his faculties were returning, the light in his pale eyes sharpening to recognition as he regarded his Jotun-self.

“Do you know thyself?” Lodur asked.

“I am Lodur,” the As replied, and Lodur couldn’t help but wince.

“Yes, but no longer. Thee and I are the same, but thou shall have all that was once ours, save our name. That, and a spark of the Aesir magic will I keep. Thou shall be known as Odin, Son of Bor, and Prince of Asgard in all ways that this Jotun facet could not. Be our father’s pride, and love our mother always.”

Lodur kissed him on the forehead and blessed his Asa-self. Then he, a mere Jotun shard of what he had once been, left Asgard by way of the paths of vapor and light that trailed between the realms. He traveled Yggdrasil’s branches for many years before his pure Jotun blood called him home, and so on Jotunheim did he settle. He was not surprised to learn that his uncle had claimed the throne in Bestla’s absence, and had no intention of surrendering it to an Asa-halfbreed. He was not surprised when the wars began again after Bestla’s death. He was not surprised when Odin strove for peace between the realms, but when the Jotnar would not yield, he came upon them with the fury of their father before them.

So the ages passed. Lodur, a runt of a giant with no lineage to name, kept to himself outside the city. He survived on what he could hunt and amused himself by nursing the spark of As magic he’d kept into a bright flame once again. He grew old. Sometimes people from the city would come to him, asking for advice or services from his magic and old wisdom. He gave these gladly, missing the constant company he’d had in Asgard in another life, long ago.

Lodur watched the stars turn, the wars fought, and the realms spin. He grew tired, his body bent and his once dark hair whitened and fell out. His vision faded and sound grew dim. Every movement was pain. He wait for the end.

Would his Asa-self notice when he died?

 

Another war began, though its battlefield lay on Midgard, and Lodur wait for it to pass yet again. It was during this time a young woman came to his home, asking for his assistance. Lodur could not see her well, but he imagined she was very beautiful, her silver hair shimmering like moonlight on the ice.

“My husband is away, fighting the Aesir. For so long have we tried for a child, but I remain without,” she explained, her hands twisting in anguish, “What if my husband falls without a son to carry on after him? Whatever spells or potions you have, I will try them all for a child to give him.”

Lodur’s body was weak, but his magic burned brighter than ever. He waved his hand over her abdomen and saw all. He sighed in sorrow for the young woman, for no spell he had could give her what she wished. Not in the way she was thinking.

Lodur had accepted his impending end, but that did not mean he was unwilling to attempt to stave off death for a bit longer. He was tired, his body failing him without the Golden Apples to consume, but his mind remained sharp.

“Perhaps we can help each other,” he murmured. “Lady, if thee doest precisely as I say, thou shall give birth to a son. Leave this place and head east. The first creature thee meets, thou are to slay and consume the flesh, all the flesh, raw. Do this, and watch thy belly swell.”

The woman was grateful, and even with his failing eyesight could Lodur see her excitement. He wait a handful of moments after she left, and then called his magic to him, changing one old form for another. The old wolf, too small and half-blind, left the shelter and ran off into the endless white to cut her off.

When the woman, Farbauti by name, came across the old and ragged wolf, she felt no regret in ending the life of this pitiable creature. Calling blades of ice to her hands, she slew the animal and, as instructed, ate all the flesh, raw and bloody. She kissed the skull and ribcage in thanks, and then buried the bones before returning home.

Had Lodur his sight, he would have recognized the Queen’s Crest that Farbauti wore upon her breast, would have known her as desiring an heir for her King husband. He would have never done what he did.

It did not matter. As Lodur became renewed within Farbauti, all that he had been was forgotten. The too-small babe that was born to war knew only hunger and cold and abandonment. He would never know what became of Farbauti, or why he had been left alone in the temple. Had she left him, or died defending him? It mattered not, for he was a starving babe who knew only hope as scarred but gentle hands lifted and caressed him.

He knew these hands were where he was meant to be.

 

So did Loki Odinson grow in Asgard, a Jotun underneath an As façade, but he did not know this. He knew the many uses of magic from a very young age. He knew the desire for the love of a father who always seemed so far away. He knew the scalding jealousy of a golden, perfect brother he was all too happy to abuse with tricks for a laugh. He knew the ill repute of a people who did not know what to do with the strange second son.

He took hold of an ancient Jotun relic, and he _knew_.

“What am I?”

“You are my son.”

Loki turns slowly, afraid to look down at his Jotun hands and instead turning his beseeching eyes to his father.

He sees himself.

The man he was meant to be. What he’d left behind all those ages ago.

“What more than that?”

_Do you know who I am? Is that why you brought me back?_

Odin does not answer, there is no recognition in his pale eye. But Loki wants more.

“The Casket wasn’t the only thing you took from Jotunheim that day, was it?”

“No...”

As Loki listens to Odin’s tale he cannot understand which is worse. That he was forgotten? That he forgot _himself_ his true nature? That Odin, his _father_ , only ever saw him as a means to an end and never...

Nothing has changed. He remains the monster of Asgard, and in that his anger grows. Resentment festering for ages in the wastes of Jotunheim alone while Odin, his Asa-self, took all he should have had.

Loki starts yelling, hissing and spitting at his father-self and unable to stop.

Odin blurs, one man becoming three as Loki’s fury and lifetimes of memories rise up to choke him. His father Odin, himself, and Bor.

“It makes sense now, why you favored Thor all these years...” he snarls, advancing on Odin who is falling, tumbling to the floor with one hand extended towards his son, but Loki no longer sees him. He towers over him, and it is Bor alone before him, gazing up at his monster son with disappointment and regret, “Because no matter how much you claim to _love me_ , you couldn’t have a Frost Giant sitting on the throne of Asgard!”

And Lodur _hates him_.

Loki’s words run out, his anger dissipating in the silence, and Odin is still. He crouches beside his father-self, reaching out to touch that which he had and could have been. In the end, it is the frightened son who calls out for help.

 

When Gungnir is held before him, Kingship offered freely to the son of Odin, Loki hesitates. This had never been what he wanted, not really. But Frigga mother-wife speaks kindly to him: that Thor is banished, that succession is his...

Indeed it is, for is he not Odin and Odin’s son both? Was he not born Lodur Borson, heir of two thrones?

Does he not _deserve,_ this?

 

Thor cannot return. He was not ready for Kingship before, and Loki cannot let him usurp him before he finishes setting the Realms to right. When Odin awakes, then Thor brother-son will be dealt with, but not now, regardless what Thor’s witless friends may think.

First is Jotunheim and its King, Laufey. Enticing the son of the sons of a usurper to Asgard is easy enough. The Casket is too great an offering to turn down. It is Heimdall who proves difficult, distrusting the rule of the Liesmith. No matter, once Loki has slain Laufey and avenged his and Bestla’s stolen throne, he will have finally proven to both his fathers of his worth, of his true Aesir heart.

Why can’t anyone _see?_ He is the Son of Asgard, born to serve, and that is all he has ever done. Why do they betray him so? What will bringing Thor back do?

_What has he done wrong?_

He must stop them, hold them until his plan is complete.

The Destroyer responds to his presence, despite his tenuous position as King. It is because he is Lodur All-Father that the ancient armor responds. While it was his Asa-self who imbued the armor with its servitude, it had been he, whole and monstrous, who had first forged the armor for his own use, to wear in the battles to come.

Laufey’s path through Asgard is a bloody one, but there was little help for that. The Aesir follow their king into battle, to their deaths, willingly, knowing their sacrifice is for the good of Asgard. So are these deaths. He worries briefly for his mother-wife, but she is strong and he will have to lay trust in her skills. Fortunately, Laufey is so focused on Odin he pays little mind to her.

Loki slays him with little thought, reveling in his mother’s love and knowing his window to destroy Jotunheim is open. They openly attacked the All-Father while he lie helpless...

Thor comes, and Loki has no time.

 

He can almost hear all of Jotunheim scream as the power of the Bifrost strikes their shattered little realm, and Loki smiles. _Father, be proud of me_ , he thinks, unsure which father he is envisioning.

 

“I will not fight you, brother!”

“I’m _not_ your brother! I never was!”

He is a Jotun shard, forgotten by his father-self and brother-son both. A whole life with Thor he spent, but a few days among mortals, with this _woman_ , and Loki is forgotten.

It _hurts_ , and he will make Thor hurt too. _For once_ , his damned spoiled child and brother will hurt. He will beat him into submission, then cast him out to spend ages alone and forgotten. It will hurt Odin too, and though he is himself, he is his father and so it will, _somehow_ , also hurt Bor.

But Thor is the stronger of them and once Loki forces him to stop holding back, he stands no chance. He tries all the same, because the release of rage feels so good, and in the end the Bifrost shatters.

Lodur remembers Asgard before there was a Bifrost.

Loki screams as he falls. He manages to grab hold of Gungnir at the same moment as Thor, but it is Odin who stops their descent. They hang from the broken bridge, water and wind pushing against them as the Bifrost storm pulls from below.

Odin holds onto Thor, but it is only at Loki he looks.

“I could have done it, Father! I could have done it!” He still doesn’t know to which father he is speaking, and hanging as he is, it really doesn’t matter.

He no longer sees his father, only his Asa-self, to whom he gave everything.

“For _you!_ For all of us!”

_For Asgard! I want to be Aesir again! Take me back! I don’t want to be alone anymore!_

And for the first time, he sees recognition in the one pale eye.

“No, Loki.”

No.

There is nothing left to say, and Loki can only stare as he dangles over oblivion. Anger, hatred, and jealousy war within him as he gazes at Odin, the perfect half of himself to whom he gave everything. The husband, the father, the beloved King of all the Realms. Everything he should have been, but could not. His face goes slack as the raging emotions within give way to resignation. He understands.

He glances at Thor, his brother who is trying to save him even after everything. His _son_ , golden and beautiful who, even at his worst, still only wanted the best in his heart.

Lodur had given it away, for duty.

For Asgard.

And Odin, Asa-self and beloved father, did not know him, _yearn_ for him like Lodur did, because Odin had ceased to be a mere half a long time ago.

It was time for Lodur to do the same.

Loki lets go.

He hears his brother cry out for him as he falls, but pays it no mind. Thor might mourn, but he would recover in time, perhaps even forget his brother. It would be best. Loki turns towards the maelstrom left behind by the Bifrost and falls into and through aether, vapor, and light.

Lodur did his duty to Asgard ages ago; he should not have come back.

It was time for Loki Asgardson to find his own realm.

And so he would.


End file.
